


Driver's Seat

by faeleverte



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, First Time, Fluff, In a Car, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil would never remember who moved first, but in truth it had been him. Arms reaching out to collect the whole, uninjured, smart-mouthed, tight-assed Agent that he had been certain he would never see alive again. All the friendship and trust and sideways glances of lust and attraction combined in one moment, and Phil just knew, <i>knew</i>, that if he didn’t get his mouth on that smirk <i>right this moment</i>, he would explode. Or scream. Or possibly cry like a pathetic baby. </p><p>Pity their “accommodations” were so small. Or maybe that just made it all better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driver's Seat

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same ‘verse as the series [Two-Man Rule](http://archiveofourown.org/series/61710), but many years before those events. This is the story of how Barton and Coulson got together.
> 
> Based on [this gifset](http://agntq.tumblr.com/post/66071504547). When I saw it, I had to write it. GLORIOUS thing that it is. 
> 
> As always, my eternal thanks to my beloved, perfect beta [Selana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selana/pseuds/Selana) for all her patience with me and my Midwestern quirks of language. I'd be lost without you outside of writing, too, m'dear. You mean the world to me, and you make me wish the globe was just a WEEEEEE bit smaller to have us closer together.
> 
> And a giant thanks and love to [Kathar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/pseuds/Kathar) for sharing this world with me, sharing this vision with me, and sharing a friendship that started with a shared ship and turned into a full-on cruise through the world of fanfic. You make me better.

Phil would never remember who moved first, but in truth it had been him. Arms reaching out to collect the whole, uninjured, smart-mouthed, tight-assed Agent that he had been certain he would never see alive again. All the friendship and trust and sideways glances of lust and attraction combined in one moment, and Phil just knew, _knew_ , that if he didn’t get his mouth on that smirk _right this moment_ , he would explode. Or scream. Or possibly cry like a pathetic baby.

They were stuck on a mission at the far end of nowhere, registered at the World’s Tackiest Motel with one bed they were to take shifts sleeping in (“seriously, boss, we should just sleep in the car,” Barton had said when they first walked into the room), and they had no nearby backup when everything went arse-over-tip and buildings started exploding. The last he saw of Barton was a distant view on a rooftop, shoulders flexed, bow drawn, silhouette edged in gold from the warehouse fire the next street over.

“Get out of here, Coulson,” Barton had said over the comm, no urgency or fear in his voice. And then the roof he was standing on collapsed, and Phil found himself screaming into his radio for assistance from every emergency service in the state. 

Six hours after the explosion, there was still no sign of Barton’s body in the rubble. SHIELD’s cleanup crews, medics, and security personnel finally had appeared on-scene, and Phil was forced to oversee the whole operation. Phil was reasonably certain that he had lost a bit more hair from a combination of stress and irritation from the whole mess. No one knew how to take orders, and Phil couldn’t find a location high enough above the destruction zone to keep an eye on everything at once.

Phil was stumbling with exhaustion by the time he got to head back to the room, which was the only excuse he had for tripping over the curb. He shoved himself to his feet, glad for a second that no one was there to see his fall, and then it occurred to him that someone was supposed to be there to have seen. Someone who would have laughed at him, started to help him up, then shoved him back down while still laughing. Someone…

Shut up, Phillip. 

A shower and a fresh pair of boxers later, Phil crawled between the sheets. He lay there for a moment. Rolled. Rolled again. The bedding was uncomfortably scratchy. Pillows too flat to be worth anything. However, if he turned his head just a bit, he could pick up the scent of…

_Shut up, Phillip!_

Twenty minutes later, he checked out of their room after methodically but quickly packing the computers and weapons, Geiger counters and other little boxes that went “Bip.” He needed to stay in the city another day at least, but he decided to follow Barton’s previous advice and spend the night in the car; at least it didn’t have pillows that smelled like a lost archer.

He drove the car to a darkened, empty lot, close enough to the cleanup to be able to get there if he was called, but far enough away that the lights didn’t flash in his windows. Without leaving the driver’s seat, he removed his jacket and tie, unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt and leaned the seat back, absolutely certain his guilt and grief would not let him sleep.

He’d been awakened three hours later by a gentle tapping on the window and sat up too fast, the startled jerk of his legs ramming his knee into the bottom of the steering wheel. There was a dirt-smudged grin under messy blonde spikes nearly pressed to the glass right beside his face.

“Clint….” Phil breathed as he fumbled for the lock and opened the door. He pulled the handle to set the seatback up, nearly launching himself face-first into the steering wheel. 

“Barton,” Phil said, trying to sound calm and missing by a mile, when he finally got the door open. “Where the _hell_ have you been?”

“Sorry, boss,” Barton said, resting one arm on top of the car, effectively blocking Phil from standing up. He was covered in soot and dust and had ditched his tac vest somewhere, leaving him in only a sleeveless black undershirt with a small SHIELD logo over his heart. Phil’s fingers itched to trace the design over the rippling pectoral. Barton looked like he’d been through hell, and Phil thought he was altogether gorgeous. “A couple of the targets nearly got away in all the smoke. I was yelling coordinates at you, but apparently the fall damaged the comm. I just thought you were busy with cleanup and didn’t have time to answer me.”

“I will always find time to answer you.” Phil reached out slowly to touch a streak of soot on Barton’s forearm. “Stat rep, specialist.”

“Already checked in with the medics, sir,” Barton said, sharp eyes fixed on the pattern Phil’s forefinger was tracing in the dirt on his skin. “Mostly clean bill of health, but they’re insisting I ride back in the jet in the morning. Told ‘em I wasn’t leaving until I checked in with my SO. Someone told me you were parking down here to catch some sleep, so here I am.” 

Phil watched with fascination as his own hand closed around Barton’s arm, fingers tightening around the corded muscles. He looked up, felt his mouth hanging open, met Barton’s cocky smirk, and leaned back in the seat to _heave_. Barton melted into the car, limber body easily folding, flipping a leg over to straddle Phil’s thighs. They stared at each other a long, breathless moment, and then Phil was trying to smother the careless grin off Barton’s mouth with his own lips. 

The kiss was too hard and too sloppy and too intense and absolutely perfect, and it went on for a mindless eternity, until they both needed a moment to breathe, neither pulling away as they released one another’s tongues with a filthy slurp. Phil opened his eyes, unaware of having shut them.

“Goddamn, boss,” Barton murmured against Phil’s mouth, and Phil caught that pouty bottom lip between his teeth. Barton’s skin tasted like smoke and dirt as Phil worked his teeth along Barton’s jaw, and the press of Barton’s body was leaving filth down the front of Phil’s shirt and across his slacks - not that Phil was thinking about clothing in any way that didn’t include getting it all _off_. 

“Think you could not call me ‘boss’ when I’m trying to get my tongue down your throat?” Phil asked sardonically. Barton grinned and pressed his hands harder to Phil’s shoulders, pinning him to the seat.

“Knew you wanted me.” Barton said, rolling his hips wickedly against Phil’s until his ass caught on the horn, the unexpected beep making them both jump and Barton’s shoulders shake with humor.

Barton’s laugh was cut off by a groan when Phil bit down on his earlobe. “Back seat?” Phil managed to ask without releasing his teeth. He heard a wicked chuckle only a moment before the seat rolled backward, Barton’s foot having caught the bar to release it.

“I think we can manage here,” Barton answered, and then the seatback dropped, and he was looming over Phil, leaning in to resume the kiss.

Phil locked his hands across Barton’s back, fingers digging in, holding hard, shaking with residual worry. The hours of wondering had left Phil keyed up, raw, emotions and nerves buzzing close to the surface.

“Dammit, Barton,” Phil said, half-angry, half-hungry. “I was worried about you this time. Didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Proverbial bad penny, Coulson,” Barton said, holding his weight with one arm as he reached between their bodies to thumb free Phil’s belt. “I’ll always turn back up; don’t you ever doubt that.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” Phil muttered as his pants were unfastened and pushed open, making space for Barton’s broad palm to slide under the waistband and press against Phil’s hip.

“Only fair,” Barton replied, “since I came back expecting to find my buttoned-up, unflappable handler, and instead he’s been replaced by this alluringly seductive man with a positively decadent mouth, missing his tie, shirt half hanging open. How am I supposed to survive a thing like that?” He draped his body along Phil’s, burying his face in the open collar at Phil’s neck. 

The warm dampness of each breath kicked up the burn in Phil’s blood… and his groin. A little swipe of tongue across his collarbone made Phil whimper before Barton pulled back to unbutton the rest of Phil’s shirt, pushing the sides open to slide both hands through the hair on Phil’s chest.

“Jeez,” Barton breathed, eyes going wide. “Look at this!”

“Barton,” Phil panted, yanking Barton’s sleeveless undershirt free of his tac pants and rucking it up to get hands on skin, “Really want to…” His words trailed off in a moan as Barton stroked one hand down his stomach and wrapped around the hardness in his boxers. “FUCK!”

“Yessir,” Barton said, rubbing his face, cat-like, against Phil’s chest. His hand clenched around Phil’s cock twice before sliding back out of Phil’s slacks. “That’s the basic idea. Had no idea you were hiding this… _hair_ under those button-ups. Jesus, sir! If I’d known that, I’d have gotten one of them offa you years ago.” Barton sat up and unfastened the button on his own pants. “Gonna ride you like…” The undershirt was peeled off, followed by Barton kicking off his boots and then lifting up and starting to shimmy out of his pants, the movements made intensely intimate in the enclosed space.

Phil groaned, letting his head drop back and his eyes close. Watching Barton strip _in Phil’s lap_ was nearly enough to make him come in his pants like a teenager. There was some more wriggling, another beep of the horn, and then Barton’s mouth was back on Phil’s chest, his calloused fingers raking through the hair. Phil opened his eyes, reached down to catch Barton’s ass and found a lot of bare skin. 

A whole Clint Barton worth of bare, tanned, scarred, perfect skin. 

Phil closed his eyes again, groaning and arching his back to give Barton free access to his torso. Time stopped when Barton began toying with Phil’s nipples, biting at one while gently scraping the other with his trimmed nails. Phil went limp, hands draped uselessly around Barton’s back, body relaxed, wanton groans and gasps coming out of his mouth that he could not have stopped if he tried- not that he was trying. After a decade of helpless pleasure, Phil felt Barton push himself up, and Phil was finally able to open his eyes.

“Still with me, sir?” Barton asked, his grin both sinfully sexy and ornery as hell. “Thought for a minute I’d broken you.”

“Not yet, Specialist,” Phil answered dryly. He rubbed his hands firmly up Barton’s ribs and chest, over his shoulders, and back down the muscular back that had been the subject of far too many shower-based fantasies.

“Gotta get your pants out of the way,” Barton said, bracing his feet somehow, pressing one hand into the door, and lifting himself off of Phil’s lap, back against the roof of the car. 

Phil lifted his hips and wriggled, cock slapping against his stomach as the waistband of his underpants caught and then sprang free. 

“Yeah, Coulson,” Barton’s voice was practically a purr now. Phil hissed as the rough calluses of Barton’s left hand trailed down his shaft. “I knew you’d have something nice for me in those slacks. God, want you to spear me with that gorgeous thing. Rip me fucking _open_!”

Pushing himself up to one elbow, Phil reached up with his right hand to touch, trail his fingers from Barton’s cheek, down his neck, shoulder, chest, stomach, before he jerked hard on Barton’s hip, collapsing his carefully braced position. They landed chest to chest, and both moaned as their cocks rubbed together.

“Think you can use a little of that flexibility to reach the wallet in my pants?” Phil asked, sitting up to allow both hands to explore the sharp angles and hard muscles now rubbing against his lap and abdomen. “Lube and a condom in there…”

“Feeling optimistic this trip?” Barton asked lightly as he twisted, elbow catching the horn this time, making them both laugh. The wallet was dropped between them, and Barton leaned in to rub their chests together, offering a kiss or thirty.

“Best to be prepared,” Phil said, mock-seriously. “If I’d known how this was going to end up, I’d’ve packed more than one, and we could’ve used them sooner.”

“Coulson, sir,” Barton said, his eyes hot and dark in the shadows of the car. “Can we stop talking and get on with this?”

In answer, Phil dropped back against the seat. He collected the wallet that was now digging into his right thigh, and pulled out the single packet of lube, leaving the condom hanging halfway out and tossing the wallet into the passenger seat.

“Hope it hasn’t been too long for you,” he said as he ripped the slick open and squeezed it onto his fingers. “There’s not a lot in one of these.”

“There is no way I can answer that without sounding… But, yeah, I’ll need some prep,” Barton cut off with a hiss, back arching, as Phil dragged him far enough forward to press in one finger, reaching awkwardly around the side. “That is not nearly enough.” 

Phil started to pull away, worried that he was causing damage. Barton caught his wrist.

“No, not… Give me more.” Barton said, dropping his head to Phil’s shoulder and panting against the side of his neck. “More!”

Oh. Not the kind of demand anyone could ignore. 

Phil locked one arm around Barton’s waist, dragging him higher while sliding his own hips forward down the seat, shoving his legs further into the footwell. His pant leg caught on the brake pedal, and he tried to kick it free. Giving up, Phil turned his attentions back to the body above him. 

From the new angle, Phil had room to reach between their bodies and under Barton’s legs, giving his wrist a greater range of motion. He pressed a kiss to the six-pack abs above him, laughing when Barton flexed his hips to rub his cock against Phil’s cheek. Having it so close, Phil gave that a wet, open-mouthed kiss, too, and Barton arched his back and groaned.

“Shit, sir!” Barton bucked his hips again as Phil pressed two fingers in, twisting lightly to hunt for… “ _FUCK_!” That. Perfect. Barton went wild above him as Phil kept up the steady finger-fucking, teasing, stretching, occasionally going back to graze, barely miss, or press firmly against Barton’s prostate. And, GOD, the sounds Barton made! Phil’s own hips were flexing against nothing, desperately searching for friction on his blazing erection. Phil worked Barton hard, tongue running along his hip, the side of his cock, swiping over the head once or twice to try to memorize the taste.

“God, gonna come from that…” Barton whispered, wiping his face with one forearm. He curled his spine, to bring his lips down to the top of Phil’s head, his panting breaths stirring through Phil’s hair. 

“Coulson,” he snarled. “Fuck me now. Come on, sir, I’m ready.”

“Pushy,” Phil answered, barely intelligible around the gravel in his own voice. He had never been as turned on as he was right this moment.

Barton grabbed the condom from the passenger seat, ripped it open, and waited for Phil to shove himself back up into the bucket of the seat before rolling it down Phil’s cock. Without a word and far faster than Phil intended to breach him, Barton was pressing back to impale himself on Phil’s dick. They both shouted, and Phil nearly lost his mind, immediately rolling his hips up, seeking more of that burning heat. Barton shouted again.

“You okay, Barton?” Phil asked, trying to force himself to still.

“Fuck yes, sir! God, fuck me!” Barton growled.

So Phil did. His fingers tightened against Barton’s thighs hard enough to bruise, and the two of them moved together, completely in sync with each other, they way they were on every op. They found a rhythm with a little grind on the end of the inward thrust, and the tiniest of hitches at the apex of the outward movement. Barton was babbling incoherently, and Phil was sure something stupid was coming out of his own mouth. 

“Touch me, Coulson,” Barton ground out. “Fuck! Need just a little more.”

Phil managed to unlatch the death-grip his right hand had on Barton’s hip, wrap his palm around Barton’s leaking cock, and, most magical of all, match the movement of their hips.

“Come on, Barton,” He barked, bracing both feet on the floor of the car and putting some extra force behind each lift of his hips. “Come on me. Fucking COME!”

And Barton dropped his forehead to Phil’s and sighed, nearly silent as he came, but the heat of Barton’s come across Phil’s chest, and the convulsions of Barton’s muscles around Phil’s cock dragged him over the precipice, and he arched hard under Barton as he filled the condom. 

“Goddamn, sir,” Barton whispered shakily as he sank slowly on to Phil’s chest. 

They rested together silently for a long time. And then Phil held the condom while Barton pulled up slowly. Phil hissed as Barton writhed around in his lap, brushing his oversensitive cock while getting dressed. Once his clothing was back to rights, Barton sat up and studied Phil, gaze sharp and grin sharper.

“Nice moves, sir,” he said with a wink. He opened the driver’s side door and slid off of Phil’s lap and out of the car. “Best sex I’ve ever had. Really mean that. It was good.” Barton ducked his head, looking oddly shy in spite of the triumphant smile that was pulling on his lips. 

Phil pulled the handle to lift the seatback up, and reached out to catch Barton by one hip pocket. 

“Hey, Clint,” he said softly, pushing up the hem of Barton’s shirt to stroke the skin of Barton’s stomach with one thumb. “Think maybe you could call me Phil now? Sometimes, at least.”

“Yeah,” Barton said, smiling gently, a little crookedly, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, that’d be good. So I gotta get back, though. Medics will send someone looking for me soon. Decide I have a concussion and am passed the fuck out somewhere. See you at HQ tomorrow?”

“If the cleanup is finished, I should be in before supper,” Phil answered. “If not, it’ll be the next morning.”

“Just, uh, hurry home,” Barton said, and then he added, hesitantly, testing the word, “Phil.”

“See ya soon, Clint. Get a shower and get some rest.”

After Barton had disappeared into the night, Phil just sat for a long time.

“I had sex with Barton,” he said aloud. Even with the scent of sex and sweat and dirt hanging heavy in the small compartment, even with the itch of Clint’s come drying on his chest and stomach, even with his shirt still hanging open, pants below his knees, it was nearly unbelievable. “I had sex with Barton… in a car. That’s…” He had no idea how to finish that sentence. 

And then he started to laugh, half hysterical, and half-- genuinely happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos are coveted and hoarded for rough days when writing is hard, so leave me something to hold on to. Also, I’m terribly chatty and not scary at all. Drop me a comment or come visit me on Tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> [faeleverte](http://faeleverte.tumblr.com)


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